


A Change Will Come

by PseudoAuthor



Category: Class (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Gen, Grief, M/M, Post-Series, Pre-Series, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8817841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoAuthor/pseuds/PseudoAuthor
Summary: Something catches her attention on screen because she pushes past him, her head craned at an odd angle. “What the hell is that?” Her finger presses the screen, pointing at Olaf. “A snowman,” he says slowly, trying to repeat the word accurately.“Earth has snowmans and humans. It is very white.” She flinches back. “The snowman just impaled himself and yet he laughs.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for GameofCards (December Team Battle) - theme was Winter. My first Class fic so sorry if it's a bit rough on characterisation. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. It covers pre-series (Charlie and Quill coming to Earth), and post-series. Spoilers for various episodes.

Charlie’s first introduction to Earth culture and by proxy – winter, is unknowingly listening to _Let It Go,_ playing through the speakers of the Tardis.

The Doctor asks for his name as he watches his planet become a speck in the window. Unfortunately Rhodian names don’t translate well and the Tardis whirrs unhappily. The prince, for he is not yet Charlie, realises that the Doctor isn’t paying attention to him anymore, having been distracted by a beep – he doesn’t mind though. 

He has just lost his family; has watched his people slaughtered, ran for his life, and is currently flying away in children’s bedtime story. He remembers his nanny tucking him into bed, forcing him to drink a foul smelling concoction of vitamins _“for the good of your people”._ As a reward for not throwing up on his bedclothes, she would tell him tales; about the cabinet, about a creature who split continents apart with its bare hands, about a spaceship that was deceptively smaller on the outside – controlled by a man who changed his face whilst travelling through time and space.

Now that nanny is dead.

He will learn of no new stories of Rhodia, nor will he tell any of his own.

The prince watches Andra’ath from out of the corner of his eye. The Doctor, all frantic movement and quick speech, continues to chatter and occasionally scoff – a result of being asked to place her in a holding cell. “No, that won’t be necessary,” the Doctor had sternly said.

The prince knows that it isn’t necessary but the Quill has hatred in her eyes and an index finger that moves continuously, a mimic of pulling the trigger of her gun.

It would make him feel a little better.

Taking one last glance out of the window – his planet now no longer visible, he climbs up the stairs onto the platform placing the Cabinet of Souls gently down by his feet. There’s nowhere for him to go. The Quill is occupying the only chair, glowering at him. The Doctor has his back turned, his eyes fixed on a little box.

He stands in the corner, folding his arms across his chest trying to keep out of the way.

Alone.

That is what he is. The only Rhodian left in the universe and a prince with no people.

“You’re going to love earth,” the Doctor says. “Wonderful place to live – the number of outerworldly disasters is higher when compared to the average but some things cannot be helped.”

As wonderful as the Doctor is trying to make earth seem he can’t gather any enthusiasm. _Rhodia_ was a wonderful place to live. A land of bright colours and beautiful architecture. He looks up, catching the Doctor’s gaze and can’t help but feel ungrateful in the wake of his saviour’s grin. His mother’s would admonish him for not being ‘princely’, ungracious in the face of help. Of course, it doesn’t really matter now. “What do they look like?” he manages to ask.

“Oh! Come, both of you.” The Doctor turns his head to the screen above him, his hand motioning at Andra’ath who slowly gets to her feet. “C’mon, know your enemy, soldier.” He presses a few buttons before two people appear onscreen. “Here we are.”

The images the Doctor present are strange. The male form is a similar height to the female; their hair is different, shades of brown and red, short and long respectfully. They don’t have anything distinctive about them. No protrusions on the jaw like the Rhodia and no sharp quills or a cranial ridge like the Quill. This is who they are to live amongst for who knows how long?

“They’re so—“ he starts, catching the expectant look on the Doctor’s face.

“Unprotected—“ Andra’ath cuts in. Her distaste for them is obvious. Her voice sounds incredulous and her mouth twists in displeasure as she looks at the screen.  She’s wondering how they defend themselves, how they fight – trying to measure them up to an esteem that is only applicable to the Quill.

He frowns at her behaviour. “Pink. Are they meant to be—“

“Like blobs,” she interrupts again, ignoring his glare.

The Doctor looks between them and tsk’s. “You underestimate them. They aren’t all pink. And they aren’t unprotected.” He turns, his hands flying as he speaks. “The human race wages war. They kill. They steal. They can be cruel. They can be heartless.”

“And you’re sending us there?” This doesn’t sound like a good plan. There’s a mixture of amusement and curiosity on the Quill’s face.

“They also love,” the Doctor continues. Andra’ath scoffs. “They connect. Most strive to be better than before.”

That’s nice, he supposes. He takes another glance at the image and then looks down at his hands, his greyish blue skin, webbing between his fingers and bumps along his sixth finger. “We’ll have to look like them.”

“Ah yes.” The Doctor stares at him. He looks at her. She looks between the screen and her own hands. The ends of her fingers are sharp, perfect for pulling out enemy eyes. “I can put a perception filter around you – but you run the risk of the filter malfunctioning. I can alter your appearance at a more permanent level.”

At the Doctor’s words she shakes her head vehemently. “Make us like them? No. Not in a million years.”

This isn’t a choice, it is written in the Doctor’s posture, in the way he straightens his back as if preparing for an argument. He looks at the Doctor. “If we are found out…”

“Earth has two monitoring bodies - UNIT and Torchwood, although Torchwood might be defunct. Not sure what happened there. Jack, I haven’t seen him in a while…I think? Time travel; it’s hard to keep it straight in your head. Point is, Earth takes ‘alien’,” and at this point the Doctor makes an odd gesture that encapsulates the word _alien,_ “threats very seriously. UNIT more so than Torchwood. If found out, it would not be good for you.”

The Quill is not pleased by the news. She stalks towards the Doctor, her face only a small distance away from his, and shouts. “I am a warrior! I will not be reduced to this!”

The Doctor looks at her, unafraid but sympathetic. “I am sorry, but you don’t have a choice.”

She takes a long glance at him. He knows that she’s thinking about the arn in her head. Bitterness colours her voice as she says, “Nothing new there.”

He won’t be made to feel guilty about his actions. Ignoring her, he asks. “Where will we live? What will we do, we can’t just sit there for the rest of our lives?”

The Doctor pauses his turning of something on the console and asks her, “Does he always ask this many questions?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Something in him breaks. Maybe its shock but the tenuous hold of control that he’s been projecting is gone and he raises his voice. “Forgive me for not processing this as easily as you seem to be!” This isn’t fair. He doesn’t know anything about Earth. There’s no one to talk to and the Doctor is making it rather clear that they will not be staying with him any longer than necessary.  

Her eyes narrow, the quills on her head flattening out behind her head, out of anger. “Easy?” She moves towards him. “You think this is easy?!”

“Hey! Enough!” She lets out a short scream of frustration and steps back far enough that she leans against the railing. “I am sorry you are both hurting but there are currently more important things to consider.” The Doctor pulls out what looks like a laser pointer. The Quill lunges forward, wrestling the Doctor’s hand up into the hair.

“Andra-ath!” he shouts. He is shocked at her speed, and at the anger on her face.

“Is that a weapon?” she hisses into the Doctor’s ear.  She has forced his hand up into the air, the laser still whirring. His other hand is twisted behind his back. Her arm is placed across his throat in an attempt to cut off his oxygen.

“It’s a sonic screwdriver,” the Doctor wheezes out.  

“Will it harm him?” She shakes the Doctor. “Answer me.”

“No. It will scan…his body. It’s getting…hard to breathe.”

She looks at him for approval. “He won’t hurt me – you’ve heard the tales, haven’t you?”

She shakes her head, unwrapping her arms from their hold and pushes the Doctor in his direction. “The creature inside my head,” is the explanation she offers to the Doctor. It’s not an apology but the closest thing she can manage.

“May I proceed?” At his nod, the sonic screwdriver scans over him. “You’re what? Seventeen years old? School for you then. And you…” He scans her as she glares at the room in general. “Early thirties…thirty five. Caretaker? That’s a fun job. Believe me.” At her unimpressed look the Doctor mutters. “No, okay…parent?” She scoffs and he shakes his head vehemently. The Doctor frowns and tries again. “Teacher then. His legal guardian. I’ll set you up in a house, get you a job, enrol young…” he trails off. “You’re going to need a name.”

“What’s wrong with my name?”

“It’s unintelligible to humans and you cannot be called ‘Prince’. Can you play the guitar?” the Doctor asks.

“What’s a _gee-tar_?”

“No, then. Say your name for me.”

He does watching the Doctor’s face. The Doctor stands with a hand stroking his chin, his brow furrowed.  

The Doctor shakes his head. “Chzeiar—no…again. And enunciate please.”

The prince says his name again, slowly. He’s careful, in a way that is reverent, for this may be the last time that it is spoken aloud to someone else.

The Doctor mumbles a few false starts before he looks up, a smile on his face. “Charles Smith. Charlie – it’s young but strong.”

The prince, now Charlie, frowns and mimes the name to himself. It feels odd on his tongue. “Charles Smith,” he says slowly hissing out the ‘S’ in Smith with so much emphasis that the Doctor tells him to ‘stop sounding like a snake’. Never mind that he doesn’t know what a ‘snake’ is. He tries out the name Charlie, feeling his tongue curl around and catch on his second set of teeth for the ‘L’.

Charles Smith. Charlie Smith. This is his name now.

Andra’ath huffs. “What kind of name is Smith?”

“Oh my dear, the best sort of people are named Smith,” the Doctor replies wistfully. Charlie watches the Doctor’s face, wondering if he realises that his smile has dipped at the corners of his mouth. After what seems like minutes, the Doctor shakes his head, turning his attention onto Andra’ath. “Now you. Your species is Quill, that’s good for a last name. You need a first name though.”

“What can’t I just be Quill?”

“Can you play guitar?” the Doctor counters.

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Then no, you can’t be just ‘Quill’.” The Doctor is silent for a few moments. “What did they call you? They don’t name you. You name you. Andra’ath right?” He hums, his brow furrowing in thought. “Oh. Even better – name yourself. No, wait – after I alter you then name yourself. Names are powerful and you are a warrior so more power to you,” he says ending his spiel with a shake of his fist. “Okay let’s get you human looking. You first Andra’ath. Go down the corridor, first door to your left. I’ll be there in a minute.”

She disappears leaving Charlie and the Doctor to stare at each other. “My condolences for the loss of your people, your highness.”

Charlie nods, indicating his acceptance. “Best start calling me Charlie…if I am to get used to the new name.” The faster he gets used to this the better. There is so much to learn, and not enough time in the universe to mourn.

The Doctor smiles softly. It makes him look younger somehow. Charlie knows that the man has lived a long life. The precise age, no one seems to be able to calculate. A small part of him is tempted to ask but as he looks into the Doctor’s eyes he feels the words get stuck in his throat. There is an age; time that is lengthy and suggests the rise and fall of races and planets, but there is something else buried underneath that.

It is something that resonates with him now too. Within his eyes, Charlie can spy _loss,_ at far greater proportion than he can even begin to fathom.

He looks away, finally paying attention to the song playing in the background. “What is that?”

“Oh, music from Earth. This particular song is one of the more interesting phenomenons from the past five years. Here, watch this.” He directs Charlie back to the chair, moving the screen closer to him. “Think of it as your introduction to Earth culture. If you’ll excuse me.”

By the time the Quill returns Charlie has made it just to the part where Olaf is singing about summer.

“What is that?” she says. Charlie jumps, quickly rising from his seat.

“Earth culture apparently,” he says taking in her appearance. She has hair instead of quills, her skin pink like the images of humans on screen, and her clothing seems soft and impractical – a contradiction to her nature. “You look—”

“Hideous I know.” She rolls her eyes. “Your turn.”

“Is it weird? Does it hurt?”

“Again with the questions,” she taunts. Something catches her attention on screen because she pushes past him, her head craned at an odd angle. “What the hell is that?” Her finger presses the screen, pointing at Olaf.

“A snowman,” he says slowly, trying to repeat the word accurately.  

“Earth has snowmans and humans. It is very white.” She flinches back. “The snowman just impaled himself and yet he laughs.”

The Doctor coughs bringing his attention away from the movie. “Charlie, time to change your appearance.”

As Andra’ath settles into the chair, crossing her feet at the ankles, she calls out. “Also, my name is Andrea Quill – address me by Quill.”

Quill. Easy enough. He glances back watching her face as she processes what’s going on onscreen before turning back to the Doctor. “Are you sure it’s safe to leave her out there?” He pauses at the door. The room is large, high ceilings, lots of shelves and tables. The centre of the room has two beds, but that is not what draws his attention.

In the corner of the room he sees a silver pod with light blue bedding. Charlie feels his heart start to beat faster. “Yes, she’s fine.” The Doctor turns on a computer, and pats the surface of the pod. “Now, hop up onto here and lie back. A glass cover will encapsulate you for—“

“No,” he gasps. His vision is tunnelling, fixing in on the pod. There’s no way…

“Oh. I see,” he hears in the distance. He feels a hand on his arm and a pressure that moves him up onto a bed. “Charlie, I want you to breathe deeply with me.” He feels the Doctor squeeze his arm and breathes in slowly, fighting against the need to gasp in a lungful of air. Eventually the Doctor asks, “How long did your Ascension last for?”

He thinks back to the locked box. It was necessary. It was the Rhodian way of demonstrating royal readiness. He scratches at his arms, the feelings of tubes under his skin transient but uncomfortable enough that he has to look away from his body. “Forty-seven days.”  

The Doctor tuts. “I always disliked that tradition.” _It’s okay,_ Charlie thinks, _it will never happen again_. “So, different option. I knock you out with a gas. Then I transfer you into the pod, make the changes, and then take you back out, allowing you to come to in a nice open space. Sound good?”

It sounds much more preferable.

“Do you have any preference on appearance, or can I freehand this?”

There’s nothing that Charlie wants. When he wakes up he won’t look like himself anymore. “Just…make me unremarkable.”

“Now that will be difficult,” the Doctor says fixing a mask on Charlie’s face.

The gas slowly enters his system. He feels his eyes start to grow heavy, his body going lax, and the lights above him growing bright and hazy. His tongue is weighty in his mouth and he just manages to mumble, “Why?”

The last thing Charlie sees is the Doctor smiling gently at him. “Because everyone is remarkable.”

* * *

“Summer is hot. Winter is cold,” Quill pushes the laptop away, in his direction.

They’ve been here for a few days trying to work out how Earth works. The things that make people human; like popular culture, remain a mystery to them. Rhodian education translates quite well across cultures so at least most of the lessons will be familiar.

“And Autumn and Spring are a mix of both…sort of. It will be inconvenient buying clothes to accommodate this.”

Quill takes a sip of her coffee. “The more I learn about them, the more I’m convinced that they survive out of dumb luck than any mental and physical ability.” She gets up, going to one of the cabinets and pulling out a block of chocolate. “We should call the Doctor – tell him to take us to another planet.”

“Quill, you have to do this. The Doctor wouldn’t have put us here without a good reason.”

It’s the truth but it doesn’t stop her from viciously biting off one corner of the block, unhappy with his words. “One day, Prince. One day in the future, this thing will be out of my head and I will make your life miserable in ways that will be unfathomable to your tiny mind,” she promises.

“That day is not today.”

“I can wait.” She takes another bite. “With any luck you’ll freeze to death in Winter.”

Rhodian’s aren’t made for the cold. He hopes that his human body can withstand the winter temperatures. “Did you spend much time in the Southern Land?”

“I was born there, what do you think?” He doesn’t say anything, instead he catalogues the information, finds himself curious as to what her life was like before she was captured. His mother and the advisors didn’t get the opportunity to tell him, nor did he ask. She looks annoyed. He never asked her either. “Yes. And then I saw the destruction your people brought onto mine and slowly made my way to the North. I saw the fields turn from orange to red and the people grow from slight to strong. I vowed to change that. I almost did.”

“At the cost of my people,” he reminds her, already feeling the familiar burn of indignation begin to crawl up his spine whenever she calls herself _slave_ , or _freedom fighter._

She is serving punishment.

She is a terrorist.    

“Who only succeeded at the cost of my own!” she roars, her fist slamming onto the countertop. Charlie stands up, alarmed.

She can’t do anything to him, the arn ensures his safety, but still. The anger in her voice, the violence that runs through her body will not bode well for them. “We need to- we need to find some level of peace, if we are to live together.”

“You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.” She stalks out of the kitchen. He hears her go upstairs. He sees her dirty mug and moves to wash it.

It’s odd, as a prince tidying up after himself was considered improper, but here he finds it calming. As he takes the mug he looks at the counter top and frowns. Towards the edge, where presumably her fist hit the surface, there is a dent.

 _We’ll have to get that fixed,_ he thinks to himself.

* * *

“Charles, I can hear you humming. Either do it outside or shut up.”

He looks up scanning the class and catching the eyes of a few students. Quill is looking down at her iPad.

In front of him, Tanya turns around, her eyes narrowed. “You keep humming things from Frozen. Stop it.” She turns back around.  

He doesn’t slouch, but he ducks his head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.” Tanya waves a hand at him, her head still down and scribbling answers to the questions in their textbook. “April, does it snow here?” he whispers.

April turns around, her face fixed with a smile and her eyes holding a flicker of doubt towards him. “It snows here. It’s England.”

He shrugs, a small part of him panicking that he’s giving the game away. They must be able to tell that he doesn’t belong. He looks to the front of the room and sees Quill shaking her head. “Of course…just wanted to make sure. It’s like I’m on a different planet.”

From next to him Ram pulls a face. “You are from a different planet.”

“Ram shut up,” April hisses sending him an apologetic glance. She is one of two students who spare him a second glance. The rest of the students ignore him. The second student, Matteusz, says hello to him as they pass each other in the corridor, always bumps shoulders with him as they sit next to each other in the library, kindly corrects him with a grin when he makes pop culture mistakes.

He rather likes Matteusz.

“Mr Smith, again with that children’s song! Detention.”

He lifts his head. “But—“

“No.”

* * *

He’s murdered his friend.

“Don’t.”

The cabinet is empty. He committed genocide.

“Charlie?”

Is it cold? He feels cold. There is ice in his veins. He tastes salt on his lips.

“Don’t touch me. Please.”

He will never feel warm again.  

* * *

He turns over, lying on his stomach, his pillow clutched close to his face. He only just manages to get a hint of Matteusz’s scent on the cotton.

It’s fading.

It has been weeks since they’ve shared the same space or slept in the same bed. It’s his doing of course. After everything that’s happened, Charlie can’t bring himself to be around anyone.

Having remained shut for weeks, the blinds offer only two thin slivers of light; one lines the floor, the other lines the underneath of the top of the window. It is the only continual assurance that the world still turns, that night bleeds into day before bleeding into night once more.

As a child he used to wonder, _what would happen if everything just stopped?_ As a prince that meant that he no longer had a reason to go to lessons, or that his parents would stop glaring at each other over their midmorning meal while he, only somewhat oblivious to the tension between them, would try to spear his food as it wriggled around his plate.

Now, if everything just stopped, he would be barely be content, but it would be better than feeling this…hollowness.

His contemplation is interrupted by a series of knocks. There are harsh whispers traded back and forth. He hears the door inch open just a crack and then—  

“Charlie?” Charlie turns his head, his hand pushing the quilt down far enough to see the crack of light through the door. He squints even though Matteusz’s body blocks the rest of it. “It’s Christmas,” his voice is soft; accent barely bleeding through as he makes the declaration.

Christmas. He remembers seeing the word, his mind linking it to the shops suddenly bringing out colourful lights and the abundance of fat men in red suits adorning window displays in November.

In the face of his silence Quill shouts. “Prince, get out of bed!”

He hears Matteusz telling Quill to be calm, because ‘ _stress is not good for babies’_. “Charlie, please.”

He can’t. He can’t leave.

“Fine! Stay in there!” Quill eventually spits out.

The door doesn’t close. He hears the worry in Matteusz’s voice and loathes himself for it. He’s put it there, that _tone_ in his boyfriend’s voice. “He has to get up – this isn’t good for him.”

“If he wants to wallow let him.”

“No. Why are you still angry at him? You are free. He destroyed the Shadow Kin just like you wanted him to,” Matteusz says with a hint of anger.  

“I’m not angry,” she says. “If this is how he wants to spend his days then he is more than welcome to it. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”

“I don’t believe that. You are still here. You could be leaving, but you stay here, with Charlie.”

She can’t leave yet and this is easier for her. Why bother finding a new place to live when she’ll be eaten anyways?

“Why should I have to leave? I’m pregnant,” she sounds offended.

Matteusz tries again. “Fine, then you let Charlie stay here. You don’t kick him out. You don’t have obligations to him but you care.”

“Don’t be an idiot. Charles if you aren’t downstairs by noon, I will kick you out of this house. How’s that for caring?”

Charlie waits, hearing the footsteps disappear before he gets out of bed and quietly makes his way across the room. He pauses at the door hoping that Quill and Matteusz are downstairs. He doesn’t know what to say, and if he can barely understand his own feelings how can he expect them to?

He opens the door quickly, only to find Matteusz sitting with his back against the opposite wall. For a few minutes they are silent. Just staring at each other. Charlie drinks in the sight of him.

“It’s Christmas,” Matteusz says, still not moving from his position on the ground.  

“I-I don’t _really_ know what that is.”

“It’s the holiday with Santa, and presents that you put under a tree. Or if you are religious, it’s the day that Jesus Christ was born.”Matteusz shrugs a shoulder and somewhere deep, deep down in Charlie’s soul he feels something fracture. Matteusz looks so tired. _Did I do that to you?_ Charlie wonders.

“I don’t know who that is either.”

“Nevermind, that’s not the point. Charlie please, come downstairs with me.” Matteusz stands up and Charlie instinctively steps back further into the room.

“I can’t.”

“Charlie, this isn’t healthy. You need to go outside.”

They’re breaking apart.

His voice is scratchy and he feels the burn of tears beginning at the back of his eyes. “I don’t need to go anywhere.”

He shuts the door and goes back to hide under the covers.

* * *

It’s a few days later when April appears, a slash cutting through the air in front of him. It takes him a second to remind himself that he’s not in danger and that it isn’t Coranikus in his bedroom.

“You’re quite an idiot. You know that?” she says awkwardly perching herself on the edge of his bed.

“April…” he trails off watching her cast Shadow into the corners of the room. “Could you stop doing that?”

“Right, sorry.” She turns to him placing her hands in her lap. The sight makes him want to laugh. “Go and spend time with your boyfriend. He’s like a sad puppy – I want to adopt him.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” she questions. “You’re alive. You’re in your own body. You can hold his hand, cuddle on the couch while drinking hot chocolate. Have sex. I miss that.”

He remembers standing with Tanya and Matteusz in what feels like a lifetime ago. 

_It sounded like they had sex._

_Ram and the Shadow King?_

“You miss sex?” he eventually asks.

There’s sadness in April’s eyes. “I miss the connection.” As far as Charlie knows, she hasn’t gone to see her mother. She’s a new addition to the house; Quill, Rhodian, Human and now Shadow Kin all living under one roof. Although she pops in and out and he doesn’t ask her where she goes. He guesses that she visits home or tries to catch a glimpse of Ram.

“Have you been to see him?”

“No…I’m a reminder of his dad’s murder. Tanya isn’t at home. Have you spoken to them?”

He scoffs. They both hate him, and rightfully so. “I should stay far away from everyone.”

“We said we’d find the light at the end. We agreed to do that.” She reaches for his hand and although it makes him uncomfortable, he reaches back, gingerly slipping it into her hold. She’s still April. She’s still his friend. “You were brave. You found that light.”

He squeezes her hand, feeling a tear beginning to slip down his face. “Then why can I only see darkness?”     

* * *

“It’s snowing,” he states to no one in particular, looking through the blinds of the kitchen. Charlie is surprised, weren’t the leaves falling from the trees yesterday? Even more surprising is that a small part of him feels excited. He’s felt restless over the past few days, a spark slowly igniting his desire to live in a world outside of the four walls of his bedroom. 

“You’re downstairs.” He turns around seeing Quill, her hair slightly longer and her stomach still round, dressed in her customary black clothing and black stilettoes. There are shopping bags in her grasp. From what he can see, some of it may be food.    

“How much longer are you going to be pregnant for?”

She shrugs putting down the plastic bags on the counter. “Don’t know. Quill are pregnant for five months, but this is half shapeshifter.” She gives him an incredulous look pushing a bag in his direction. “Well come on, help me put this away. May as well make yourself useful.”

Immediately he does, much to her surprise, less so to his own. Before _everything_ , he probably would’ve complained a little. Ignoring her expression, he takes out the bars of chocolate and places them in the cupboard. “Why don’t you call the Doctor?”

“Oh you are so intelligent,” she says, sarcasm dripping from her every world. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

He folds the plastic bag and then reaches for the milk. “So you called and asked how long it might be, whether it would hurt and so on?”

“He said he didn’t know, gave me a best guess; another month and a half. And I expect it will be quite painful considering we die and get eaten…”

Her words trail off and Charlie realises that he’s worried about what will happen to her and her litter. If she dies, then he may have to raise baby Quill-slash-Shapeshifters. _What if they eat me too?_ “Is there a way for you to give birth without dying?”

“The Doctor said he’d look into it and let me know.” She watches him, her expression shadowed by curiosity. “Why are you downstairs?” Charlie shrugs. “You’re starting to accept it.”

He is a little bit. Slowly. April’s been helping him. Reminding him that she’s not completely gone.

“I was going to die but you saved me.”

“We already had Ram screaming over a body, I didn’t need Matteusz to do the same.”

“He would’ve moved on.”

“Like you did,” she retorts sharply. “A prince whose people died, kept a cabinet of souls, believing in a myth for children. If what you did was moving on…” she blows out a breath and shakes her head. “If you die, he will crawl into a hole and never come out. He isn’t like the others. Tanya and Ram will use spite as a weapon. They will force the world to accommodate to their needs.”

He glares at her. “He isn’t weak.”

“Did I say he was weak?” she counters.

The mind games that she delights in never fail to test his patience but this manages irk him differently. She knows something and she isn’t telling. He crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “You’re saying something.”

“What I am trying to say, Prince, is that he loves you. Stop treating him like shit.”

Her words are unexpected. She sounds fond. Her tone is warm. Charlie’s eyes widen. Quill likes Matteusz – not that it should be strange, Matteusz is a very likeable person, Charlie should know – but Quill who hates humans and often thinks of them on the same level as parasitic creatures, cares for the Polish boy who’s fallen into her care and under her roof.

He grins at her and she scowls in response.

“Do you want to build a snowman?”

Her scowl deepens. “Did you just quote that infernal movie at me?”

Yes he did. “It’s snowing,” he says in lieu of an actual answer because that should be reason enough.

“It’s also a new year.” He must look alarmed because Quill scoffs. “Really? What on earth were you doing up their all this time?” She holds out her phone and he checks the date. 2017.

“Nothing.”

“Clearly.”

“Do we mark the changing of years?”

“Judging from the television, people watched explosions in the sky and kissed their loved ones. In America they watched a ‘ball drop’ in freezing temperatures.

A what? “From where?” Quill shrugs. “People drop balls all the time during football. Does each drop mark the passing of a new year because in that case, at least ten years have passed in the week Matteusz tried to teach me about the game.”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is Matteusz? I couldn’t find him here and…I tried calling his phone but he isn’t answering.”

“He’s working.” Working? Since when? “Unlike you, he has decided to be productive and felt bad for ‘taking advantage’ of us, which is me. He works three shifts a week at a clothing store provided that his grades stay up.”  

“I didn’t know.” He looks away from her, uncomfortably realising that he may have inadvertently left the relationship. What kind of boyfriend doesn’t know when his boyfriend has a job?

“Of course you didn’t. You’ve been locked in your room for weeks moping. Life moves on Charles. You should get a job.”

“I should go and see him.”

“You can wait until he comes home. Do not distract him.” He starts to go towards the door, but Quill reaches for his arm, capturing his wrist tightly. “Prince, do not make me tie you to a chair because I can now and it will hurt you a lot more than it will me.”

She won’t let him leave. He can see it in her eyes. She’d probably tackle him to the ground and wedge a screwdriver into his hand like he did with the fake Lankin. “Fine I’ll wait for him in the living room.”

“You can catch up on your homework. It’s in the drawer under the TV.” Quill disappears, presumably going up to her room leaving him alone in the kitchen and shocked at how much he’s missed.

Eventually he makes his way into the living room, takes out a small folder of assignments and sits on the couch. There’s a pillow and a folded blanket. _He sleeps here,_ Charlie realises numbly. He shakes his head dispelling his burgeoning anger and looks around spying Matteusz text books within reach.

Hours pass.

He hears a scratch at the door first and stands up.  He cranes his head, his ears straining to listen as keys enter the lock and the door eventually opens letting through a whistle of wind before slamming shut. There’s muttering, a sharp swear in Polish that Matteusz refuses to teach him the meaning of, but he’s come to recognise as his go-to word when he needs an exclamation, and then finally Matteusz coming into view. He hasn’t noticed Charlie yet, his hands too busy getting rid of the white powder in his hair and across his shoulders.

“Matteusz.”

Matteusz freezes for a second in the hallway before turning his head and blinking in surprise. “You’re downstairs,” he states. To Charlie’s ears, he sounds wary, like he’s not entirely certain that Charlie understands what he’s doing downstairs himself. He looks past Charlie seeing the notes on the coffee table. “And you are studying…with my books.”

Ah, right. Going through other people’s belongings is not entirely welcome on Earth. “I needed to catch up on things, but I wanted to wait for you here. This seemed like the best solution. I can put everything back if you want.”

“Charlie,” Matteusz says, “are you okay now?”

His first instinct is to say no, but it’s not the truth. His feelings are complicated. He thinks back to the Doctor’s words about _“committing one genocide for another”_ and wonders if the Doctor would understand his actions. “I don’t know how to answer that…” he says honestly. “Quill thinks I’m starting to accept it but I still feel like I’ve done the unforgivable.” He tilts his head. Matteusz looks concerned. “I missed you.”

“I was here.”

“I know you were. You always are.”

“It was either stay here or sleep in my cousin’s car. Heating is very expensive in winter and I don’t have money for petrol.”

“Is that why you got the job?” Matteusz silence makes a sick feeling begin at the bottom of Charlie’s stomach. “Please don’t leave. This is your home, no matter what happens. I promise,” he babbles.

Matteusz reluctantly shakes his head. “You don’t have to promise me something like this.”

“But I am.” Silence falls between them. Charlie shifts awkwardly on his feet, unsure of what to say or do. Eventually he settles on, “Can I—can I hug you?”

It must be the right thing to say because he sees a flicker of a smile on Matteusz’s face. He rushes over, burying his face in the crook of Mattuesz’s neck – barely stopping himself from jolting back because the skin on his neck is so cold - and grabbing a fistful of the back of his jacket. “I missed you. Are you angry?”

He feels Matteusz shake his head at first but a few seconds later he feels the nod. “It’s not so much anger though. More, a little piece is hurt. I wish you didn’t keep me out.”

“Of the bedroom?”

He hears Matteusz laugh and he pulls away not understanding why that was so funny. “That was very human.”

“Was it? You must’ve missed the bed, the couch is uncomfortable.”

There’s a sigh and then his head is directed back to where it rested. “It…I’ll explain later. I wish you spoke to me. You felt alone, yes? I can’t understand what you went through but I could have tried. We shared this experience so you weren’t alone. Also, April was my friend too. And you said that you would lose me, except you didn’t. I lost you instead.”

Charlie breathes in, his chest uncomfortably tight, and his voice just on the verge of tremulous as he quietly says, “I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

When he had first seen the star-scape hanging over his bed he had felt a mix of emotions. The most immediate was joy. Pure and unbridled, he would sit and stare at it for hours, feeling a sense of connection that deserted him every time he stepped out of his bedroom.

The house selected for them was sparse, dotted with only the necessary items of furniture, two phones and a computer. The only remotely personal item, one that the Doctor had selected himself was that of stars and space. The Doctor had said that Rhodia was in the picture. When Charlie asked ‘where’ all he received was an enigmatic smile in return.

Over the past few weeks he had spent a lot of time with his pillow at the other end of the bed, so he could fall asleep with the image imprinted on his eyes. In the days after everything had gone horribly wrong, for there was no better description for it, desperation clawed at him, his eyes greedily tracking over the image trying to find his planet because there was nothing left but an empty cabinet.

He still hasn’t found Rhodia.

“Charlie?” He turns his head hearing Matteusz softly call his name and smiles at the sight of his boyfriend dressed in jeans and a dark blue jacket with his hood pulled over his head. “Put this on and come with me,” Matteusz demands.

Reaching out, he takes the jacket. It must be new. He’s never seen it before. Doesn’t remember Matteusz owning something like this either. He puts it on feeling warmth settle over his skin, the padding only just impeding his movements. Pulling the zip up to his neck he takes Matteusz outstretched hand. “That is very puffy.”

“You look cute.”

They make their way downstairs. Quill is curled in her chair, a blanket over her body and the television casting a glow on her face, as they go past the living room. “Where are we going?” he whispers.

When they reach the door to the courtyard at the back of their house, Matteusz stops him. “You missed Christmas and New Year’s. Your first on Earth…your first with me.”

He missed that, stuck in his own grief, he only just realises that this was probably the first one where his boyfriend was not with family. “I’m sorry. Matteusz…” he starts, intent on apologising because he knows in general that the holidays are about family more than anything.

Matteusz shakes his head, not unwilling to hear the apology, Charlie can see that, but viewing it as unnecessary. “But it’s okay because here.” The door is opened, and Matteusz gently pushes Charlie through the door. There’s a flick of a switch and then lights blink on. The ground is covered in snow, and it’s still falling. There’s a small tree at the base of the stairs, twinkling lights wrapped around its limbs, a few plastic baubles and what seems to be their silverware are strung up too. “Merry Christmas Charlie.” He goes down the stairs and stands next to the tree that only reaches up to his waist. “I wanted to do this inside but Miss Quill threatened to shoot the tree or set it on fire if it wasn’t gone by the 26th.”

“It’s a real tree?”

“Fake. We can use it next year. And here, look.” He holds up the bottom branches revealing two small newspaper wrapped parcels with a red ribbon tied around them. “There is a present for you under the tree…and here,” he rushes back up, past Charlie, eventually coming out with two mugs, steam wafting from the top and the scent of chocolate permeating the air. He hands one over to Charlie. “Hot chocolate and I’m not allowed to make a fire so I will drag the heater to the door and we can sit on the steps together.”

It’s overwhelming. Quill was right. He’s been an unsatisfactory boyfriend. “I didn’t get you a present,” he says quietly.

Matteusz shrugs. “You did though. You didn’t go where I couldn’t follow.”

Charlie pulls him down and kisses him on the forehead. Matteusz cheeks are turning pink, and every time he breathes his breath comes out in a tiny puff of fog. “Matteusz?”

“Yes Charlie?”

“Will you build a snowman with me?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! If you want to chat, come say hi at pseudoauthor1.tumblr.com :D


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